Naruto leaned back in his chair, ribs creaking, and stared at the ceiling. The hat caught the last of the sun on its brim.

Somewhere across the village, Boruto was asleep. Probably. Hinata said he'd gone down easy at noon and stayed down all afternoon, which for a newborn was practically a miracle.

The knock was soft. Three small taps, spaced too far apart to be a shinobi's.

Naruto finally lifted his head.

No flak jacket. No clipboard. No mission scroll.

A child stood in the doorway. She couldn't have been older than three. Blond hair, messy from a long walk, three faint whisker marks on each cheek.

She clutched a small bag in one hand and a folded piece of paper in the other. On the paper, in a hand Naruto didn't recognize, his name was written.

Then he read it again.

The room went very, very quiet.